


Quadruple Flip

by haganenoheichou



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Codependency, Hating on Russia, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Victor, M/M, Secretive!Victor, Sexual Content, canon AU, gay skating, slight racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov didn't quit skating to look for inspiration. He quit skating because of his damn knee. Yuuri needs a hero. He can never know.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Yuri on Ice fic! I am so excited to be part of this history-making fandom :P

_Quadruple flip._ His signature move. The one that would take both the audience’s and the judges’ breath away. Viktor Nikiforov’s  _quadruple flip._

The one that took the joy of skating away from him.

It was silly to blame just that one jump, Viktor knew that; ultimately, it had been his entire skating career, filled with falls, muscle tensions, ligament stretches and tiny little tears in the tissue of his tendons that had sent him crashing down from glory. Not that anyone knew, of course. Nobody knew that during that last flip he’d done in competition, he had felt his worn-out knee almost collapse on itself. His showmanship had been the only thing that had gotten him out of the embarrassment of falling and shaming the brand that was Viktor Nikiforov.

The cock-and-bull story Yakov and him had concocted was that Viktor was out  _seeking inspiration_. Right. Because he needed more of that. Because he wasn’t inspired enough. In reality, he had shaken apart every single traumatology specialist, every single neurological and orthopedic team in Russia, the U.S., and then Japan, and all of them had told him the exact same thing.

He had to retire from competitive skating. Forever. He could coach, of course, but extended, hard rehearsals, training,  _hell_ , even running was going to be problematic. As in, terribly painful.

Living legend indeed.

He winced, watching Yuuri land his triple axel seamlessly and go into a double toe-loop, landing that as well. Yuuri was… fearless. At least, when he was on the ice. Outside the skating rink, he had gone from pretty damn pathetic to moderately to fiercely anxious, depending on the seriousness of the competition. But when he skated, he wasn't afraid to jump and do incredibly difficult step sequences. He wasn't scared of falling.

Viktor’s knee ached. His chest did too, in a less physical kind of way.

He sometimes wondered whether Yuuri was an indulgence. A selfish, vicarious sort of whim. Perhaps he was. Perhaps Yuuri was a way for Viktor to continue his skating career, if only in spirit. He knew that Yuuri could do the things he had done and that he would do the things that Viktor had planned but never gotten around to doing. Yuuri was an extension of his imagination, a sensor for his own body, out there on the ice. He was like a lunar module, sent ahead to experience the things that Viktor would never be able to in this lifetime.

It was sad.

The most unfortunate thing was that Yuuri didn't know. Yuuri  _couldn’t_ know. Yuuri could never know that Viktor was doing this to him. To them. Whatever  _them_ was. Viktor was no fool. Yuuri had become attached to him. After that careless kiss in China, Yuuri had become so close.

Viktor didn't have the heart to push him away. The selfish part of him, some would say, the dominant part of him didn't want to push him away. Didn't want to give up the joy of watching Yuuri’s eyes light up on the rink. Yuuri was blooming before his eyes and Viktor couldn’t pull him out together with the roots. That would kill him.

So Yuuri didn’t know. Yuuri didn’t know that every morning, Viktor would choke down painkillers just to be able to last through showing Yuuri the best way to do such and such turn, to work through the routine. Every time he had to lift off from the ice, Viktor grit his teeth and bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted metal.

“Viktor?”

He snapped out of his reverie to see Yuuri’s concerned face.

“Is something wrong?” The younger man asked, his eyes searching. Damn those eyes. Viktor never could resist puppy eyes. Especially when they were attached to a good-looking young man like Yuuri.

"Nothing," he replied haughtily, brushing Yuuri's concern off with ease. It was almost comical how his mask slipped into place. It really wasn't that hard, faking a smile. You just had to think of something actually nice that had happened to you once, that's it. It didn't matter that at this moment, there was a dull pain in Viktor's knee. All that mattered was that a week ago, he had kissed Yuuri in front of the entire audience. And that Yuuri had liked it. So much so that he'd pressed Viktor against the wall of the locker room afterward and returned the favor.

Since then their touches had become more frequent, more intimate, lingering and proud. They hadn’t gone  _all the way,_ as Yuuri had so eloquently put it, blushing from head to toe. And Viktor knew that it was best not to. Breaking Yuuri’s heart wasn’t part of his plan. It was best to keep their relationship… virtuous. Well, as virtuous as Viktor Nikiforov could manage. He could sense that Yuuri suspected something; one had to be blind not to. The usually incredibly tactile Viktor would have jumped at the chance to test out Yuuri’s  _eros_ , and yet, they had gone no further than awkward petting and some pretty indecent kisses.

“You’ve been kind of distant for the past week. Is it me? Am I doing something- did I  _push_ you into this, because we don’t have to-,”

Viktor pressed a finger to Yuuri's lips to silence him. He wanted to tell him; he did; but then Yuuri would get yet another piece of evidence towards Viktor's humanity. Yuuri needed a hero right now. Not a broken, aging former star still trying to bask in the rays of his fizzled-out glory.

Perhaps he was a tad dramatic.

"It's nothing, I promise. I was just thinking about the routine, that's all," Viktor said, smiling softly at Yuuri. Being happy with Yuuri was easy. The younger man was simple, in the sense that small joys and victories satisfied him. He wasn't demanding of Viktor, outside of the rink.

“You looked like you were sad,” Yuuri said, pouting a little. Viktor was pretty sure he didn’t know he was doing it. That was the charm of Yuuri Katsuki – he was unaware of just how pretty he was, and how hypnotic. His body was a magnet when he skated; but even when the blades were off, he still drew people’s attention. Particularly Viktor’s. Especially Viktor’s.

“Don’t worry about me,” Viktor said, granting him one of his trademark smirks. “You should be worrying about this little pouch around your belly.  _Someone’s_ been celebrating too many victories lately, huh,  _little piggy_?”

The trick worked. Yuuri immediately went red in the face and mumbled something that sounded like  _jerk_ , before skating off to run the program one more time.

They walked back from the skating rink slowly, for which Victor was eternally grateful. The weather was changing for sure, as his joints ached and his knee was acting up more than it had since his arrival in Japan. Yuuri seemed perfectly content to just walk by his side, looking around at the sights.

“It’s pretty,” Viktor commented lightly. He really did like Japan, even though the language was impossible to learn and some of the customs were strange to him. Perhaps it was a romanticized version of Japan that he enjoyed. One that had Yuuri in it. “Not as pretty as you, though.”

Yuuri elbowed him lightly in the ribs. Viktor was caught by surprise and stumbled a little, wincing when his knee twinged in pain.

“Oh, sorry,” Yuuri said, concerned, reaching out to steady Viktor. They ended up walking back to the  _onsen_ hand in hand.

That night, Viktor didn't come to scratch at Yuuri's door, begging him to sleep by his side. His knee was really bothering him, and he decided he would not be able to sleep too well, so why impose on Yuuri's rest? So he just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering whether there was ever a right moment to bring this up. Probably not. Yuuri didn't need him to be weak too.

Maybe after the Gran Prix finals. Maybe then.

What then? Viktor had not given it any thought. He expected that most people were anticipating his return to the rink. That he would be the one with a gold medal around his neck next time. After Yuuri wins.

Too bad.

Perhaps he could remain as Yuuri's coach. But then again, it would raise suspicion. Yuuri himself, it seemed, was waiting for him to put his skates back on.

Viktor pressed his hands into his closed eyelids, groaning.

There was a timid knock on the door, and then, without Viktor's invitation, it slid open to reveal Yuuri, his pillow wrapped in his arms, clad in an oversized T-shirt and boxers. This made him look like a little kid. It was kind of adorable.

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?” Viktor asked, turning his head to the door.

“You didn't come to bed,” Yuuri managed to stutter out, blushing heavily. Viktor sighed. Of course. It was easy to become addicted to another person’s weight next to you, their legs twined with yours, breath ghosting over your skin. Sleeping next to another warm body was a rare pleasure that humans enjoyed just for its own sake.

“I figured you were tired of me hogging the blanket,” Viktor said, smiling wanly. Yuuri looked down.

“I couldn’t sleep. I… It’s better when you’re there.”

Viktor nodded and scooted over, allowing Yuuri to slip into bed next to him. Whenever they did this, it happened the same way: the younger man would first be stiff as a board, thrumming with nervous energy, and then would relax, allowing Viktor to spoon him, lie on top of him, anything, anything at all. His shyness dissolved the moment Viktor’s hand found his waist.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore," breathed Yuuri and the way he'd said it broke Viktor's heart. It was weird, this attachment of theirs. It wasn't healthy, was it?

But he couldn’t get enough. Not even when he realized that both of them were going to suffer from this. He’d been deluding himself thinking that their… whatever this was would be accepted by the public. Sure, figure skating was on the feminine side of sports, but Russia and Japan sure as hell weren’t going to just make peace with the fact that their two top figure skaters, coach and trainee, champions, beacons, were together. Especially when Viktor announced his retirement, they would probably blame Yuuri for it.

The public was as fickle as it was adoring.

“Just thought you might have… gotten sick of me being around all the time,” Viktor replied gently. Yuuri shook his head, making the sheets rustle.

“No, I… I like it when you’re around. Makes me feel special. Like I be-,” He cut himself off, stiffening once more. Now Viktor was curious. And when he was curious, he went into flirtation mode.

“Like what,  _Yuu?_ " He asked, slinking closer to his charge so that his chest was pressed flush against Yuuri's back. He wasn't wearing a shirt, as it was too hot to sleep in one, so there was just one thin layer of fabric separating their skin. Just one.

"L-like I'm yours," Yuuri murmured. Viktor's heart swelled.

 _This is why you can’t tell him,_ he thought to himself.  _He needs you to be his rock. His home. You can’t have a leaking roof and broken windows. You have to be a fortress._

He put a lazy arm around Yuuri’s waist.

“You are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed as always!

Yuuri would have found out eventually. Viktor had known that from the very beginning. He had entered this strange contract with Yuuri knowing that sooner or later, he was going to disappoint his protégée. He had thought he was ready for the fallout. That he was prepared to face the truth, and have Yuuri face it too.

But he hadn’t thought it would happen like this.

With only two days left until the Gran Prix finals, Viktor decided to take Yuuri along to his skating rink, his  _alma mater_ of sorts, to practice a little before the grand performance of his career. Of course, Russian Yuri greeted them with a sneer and a challenging look that didn’t quite fit his youthful, almost feminine face.  _Yurochka,_ Viktor said sweetly, pinching his cheek,  _you’ll get frown lines if you pout like this._

It was really Viktor’s fault. That it happened like this. Yuuri ran his program seamlessly several times, and Viktor insisted on throwing in another combination.

_But how?_

_Like this,_ Viktor said and made his way onto the ice, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee. It was just two jumps. It couldn't hurt. He skated a circle around the rink, gaining momentum and took off. The moment his foot pushed off the cold surface of the ice, something in his knee seemed to snap.

He couldn’t help it.

He cried out sharply, falling knee-first onto the ice.

Yuuri was by his side before he could even blink, and a multitude of other skaters who’d been practicing as well glanced over, curious to see what that noise had been. Oh, how shocked they were to see the famous Viktor Nikiforov go down, sinking to the ice like a rock.

Tears of pain burnt at his eyes and he cradled his knee in his hands, trying to sit up at least.

“Viktor?”

He looked up. Yuuri’s face was pale, despite the chill of the skating rink which should have turned his skin pink.

“Viktor?”

He closed his eyes. Yakov. Yakov's voice. Yakov, the only other person who knew about his condition, was here and was stumbling towards him clumsily, looking genuinely concerned.

“What happened?” The man asked gruffly.

"H-he just f-fell and... I d-don't know," Yuuri stammered out, apparently intimidated by the rough man. "H-he was showing me a j-jump-,"

“You idiot,” Yakov said, but the words weren’t directed at Yuuri who was shaking from head to toe from stress and fear. They were directed at Viktor who had to bite his lip to prevent himself from letting out an embarrassing sob.  _Damn it_ _;_ he’d thought he at least had until the end of the Gran Prix.

“Call an ambulance,” Yakov hollered over his shoulder.

“I don’t need one,” Viktor said stubbornly, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears. Yakov trudged over and jabbed one single finger into the side of his knee. Viktor let out a pained little sound, unable to stop himself.

“I think we both know this argument is over, Vitya.”

It was embarrassing, being put onto a stretcher in front of the people he'd trained with, the people who had looked up to him as someone indestructible, flawless. The worst, of course, were the looks Yuuri was giving him. He didn't understand. Not yet. He didn't realise that this wasn't just a fluke.

Yuuri wasn’t allowed to ride in the ambulance with him, so instead the young man begged Yakov to let him ride in his car. They arrived at the hospital almost at the same time as Viktor. No words passed between them as Viktor was transferred into a wheelchair by a mountain of a paramedic, and taken to the X-ray department. No broken bones, but Viktor had known that already. Yuuri, on the other hand, let out a relieved little sound.

Next, Viktor was taken to the traumatologist. Yakov and Yuuri sat in the corridor on uncomfortable, stiff chairs left behind by the Soviet era of Russian medicine.

 _You were warned,_ the doctor told Viktor, who sat numbly with his knee wrapped tightly in an elastic bandage.  _No more jumping, no more running. No more skating. This was reckless of you, Viktor Viktorovich._

 _I know,_ he said.  _I know. But I just couldn’t help myself._

_Do you have someone to take care of you?_

He paused. Then he shook his head.

 _Stay out of trouble,_ the doctor told him instead of saying goodbye. He was given a crutch.

As he stumbled out into the corridor, limping inelegantly, he came face-to-face with Yuuri. Yakov stood several meters behind him, eyeing Viktor with something akin to remorse. He'd told. Of course, he'd told Yuuri. The younger man's face was unreadable.

“I’ll drive you to your apartment,” Yakov finally said, and Yuuri flinched, almost as if he’d forgotten the other man was there. Viktor only nodded, his head bowed.

Limping down the teal-painted corridor of the hospital was embarrassing. Limping with Yuuri’s back right in front of him, rigid and defensive, was even worse. He didn’t remember the ride back to his apartment. The only thing he could recall was Yuuri’s impassive face, his betrayed eyes, his almost mechanical posture.

Yakov bid them goodbye, telling Yuuri to take care of Viktor and not let him do anything dangerous. The doctor’s notes were unceremoniously taken from Viktor and presented to Yuuri who took them, stuffing them into his bag.

The elevator ride was almost unbearable. Dark, heavy silence. Yuuri took Viktor's key and unlocked the door to his apartment. Let Viktor walk in first, holding the door for him. Shut it with a slam behind him.

The two of them stood in Viktor’s living room, silent. Viktor’s back was turned to Yuuri who had sunk against the wall, almost as if he was propping it up with his own back.

The silence between them was thick like tar. Disgusting, suffocating, toxic.

“Why?”

The tone of Yuuri’s voice broke Viktor’s heart. He refused to turn around, standing, leaning on his crutch uncomfortably. He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Viktor didn't have an answer for Yuuri. The younger man finally managed to regain his footing and stomped over where Viktor was standing, motionless. He stopped right in front of Viktor's face, frowning. Soft fingers made contact with Viktor's chin, and his face was forced up. He kept his eyes glued to the ground.

“Why are you so reckless, you _idiot_?” That last word was more like a sob, choked out of Yuuri’s lungs. That, at least, made Viktor look up, his face haunted. “How long, Viktor? How long have you been hiding this from me?”

Viktor studied Yuuri's features, unable to tell how angry the young man was. Maybe he wasn't even mad. More like… resigned. That was even worse.

“Since before we met,” Viktor replied flatly. Yuuri paused for a moment and then nodded.

"Why?" He asked again, like a child. So naïve. Viktor was almost envious of him; and at the same time, he feared for him. Soon enough, Yuuri would have to learn too that a hero could not appear broken. That he would have to grit his teeth and be all smiles. Because he was going to surpass Viktor, he was going to be the new beacon, and he was going to suffer from it sooner or later. Figure skaters didn’t have a long shelf life.

“ _Why?_ ” Yuuri repeated, and Viktor watched tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, spilling over. The pain in his chest was almost worse than the pain in his knee.

"Because you needed someone whole," Viktor murmured. "I can't be your idol if I'm… like this."

“You’re a  _fucking_ idiot.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. Yuuri never cursed. He was a good boy from a good Japanese family with good manners and a good disposition. The person standing in front of him, however, was a nervous, angry wreck. He was shaking. He was furious. He was helpless.

“I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you,” Viktor said matter-of-factly, lifting his hand to push Yuuri’s fingers away from his chin. He didn’t want the additional pain of having Yuuri touch him. Probably for the last time.

“You’re a liar,” Yuuri said, after a heartbeat. Viktor felt like howling.

“I know. It was for your own g-,”

“Don’t you dare.”

Their eyes met.

“Don’t you dare tell me this was for my own good, Viktor. You could have seriously injured yourself-,”

“I already did.”

Yuuri let out a frustrated little snort. It would have been endearing if not for the seriousness of the situation.

“Yakov said you were in pain. Every day.”

Viktor nodded slightly, yet stubbornly.

“And still, you skated for me. You jumped for me. Why?”

“Because I wanted you to bloom.”

“That’s a stupid excuse.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Viktor said sharply. “That’s my reason for… everything I’ve done.”

“So what am I, then?” Yuuri asked. “A charity case? A fanboy? Your last blaze of glory before you retire for good?”

“You were meant to be,” Viktor said dully. Yuuri’s expression shuttered. “But you’re not anymore-,”

"God, I'm so pathetic," Yuuri muttered. "The only reason I thought the Grand Prix was worth winning is that I would get to compete against you one day."

“I know,” replied Viktor. “I know that.”

“You lied to me.”

“I did.”

“You led me on.”

“That’s true.”

“You gave me a goal that was impossible to begin with,” Yuuri accused. Viktor looked away. “All because you wanted to have one last run on the ice? Even if it was as a coach? And you just had to go pick the defenseless, pathetic little  _piggy_ from YouTube?”

“It’s not like that now-,”

“So it was like that  _then_?” Yuuri asked, tearful and somehow incredibly  _human_. His elegance and grace extended as far as the ice went. Now, though, he was just an insecure twentysomething, standing before his broken idol. How  _biblical._

“I never intended to hurt you.”

“You thought you’d just walk away when I was done with the Gran Prix?”

“Yes.”

Yuuri breathed in. Then he breathed out. Then he breathed in again, stuttering, shuddering, waning. His sobs were small, quiet, almost non-existent. His jaw worked as he looked at Viktor’s face, making the older man uncomfortable for a change.

“I’m not worth it,” he said finally. Viktor’s eyebrows shot up.

"Risking not walking again. I'm not worth it," Yuuri said firmly. "I'm… I'm not that good. I'll never be as good as you, and you know it."

“I don’t. You’re already better than-,”

“Don’t.”

They looked at each other for a long time. Betrayal was written all over Yuuri’s face.

“I thought you trusted me,” he said finally. Then he did something that threw Viktor off whichever path his excuses had intended to take. He wrapped an arm around Viktor’s waist and pulled him towards the couch. One tentative step, together.

“Why are you doing this?” Viktor asked, glancing sideways at Yuuri, feeling so guilty his face was about to explode.

"You're my coach," Yuuri murmured, pushing Viktor down onto the couch and lifting his leg up onto the coffee table. He straightened up, looking down at Viktor through swollen red eyes.

“It’s my turn to take care of you. Idiot.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you are seriously amazing. The response that I got for this fic is out of this world. So here you go, probably the penultimate chapter of this mini-whatever.

They didn't speak. At all. Viktor didn't know what he could say to remedy the situation, and Yuuri was just silently stewing in his own anger. That much was evident. He was angry and hurt and… something else. Something Viktor couldn't quite place.

As if anger and hurt weren’t enough. Yuuri had too large of an emotional range.

Silently, the younger man prepared dinner. Made tea. Helped Viktor off the couch and onto the chair at the dinner table. Picked at his food. Instant ramen in Russia was terrible. Not even the soy sauce Viktor had bought in buckets and brought over from Japan helped.

Or perhaps it had been the events of this afternoon that had permanently tainted his mouth with a horrible taste of guilt.

Viktor Nikiforov was not used to feeling guilty. Sure, he’d felt miserable ever since the doctors had declared he was unable to skate anymore. But it had been sorrow for the things he hadn’t yet done on the rink, lamentation over his career and self-serving sadness that had taken over him back then. This, though, having another person depend on him so much, led to guilt.

That reminded Viktor of why he didn’t date. Why he had never invited anyone to his apartment. Why his relationships had never gone farther than one-night-stands with people he’d barely known.

Intimacy was his worst enemy. When he was alone, he was responsible just for his own failings. Perhaps he’d never been cut out for coaching. Having Yuuri dependent on him was a crushing responsibility. And he had failed to realize that.

He wasn’t that different from people who adopted puppies and then left them out to die when they saw how much work they were.

Yuuri wasn’t a puppy, though. He was Yuuri.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Viktor asked, almost desperate, as he watched Yuuri pick at the ramen disinterestedly. The younger man had seated himself across from him. This was unusual for them, as Viktor had never maintained any semblance of personal space with Yuuri. Usually, he would be sitting right next to the other skater; their thighs pressed flush against each other. Yuuri would blush prettily every time Viktor's arm brushed his.

It would be beautiful.

Now it was just… Not.

Yuuri shook his head.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say,” he replied evenly. Emotionality was something natural to Yuuri, and Viktor had always brought it out of him, almost as if it were a reflex on Yuuri’s part to open up, cracked and exposed like a walnut. Not now, though.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“You never meant a lot of things, apparently.”

Viktor flinched. His knee protested against the movement, resonating with pain along the length of his entire leg. He had really tortured it today, huh.

“That’s not… that’s not true,” Viktor replied. He put the chopsticks down onto the table. He wasn’t hungry anyway. Neither was Yuuri. Cooking was a good form of escapism though, even if it was just instant ramen.

“Then… why did you hide?” Yuuri asked, his voice hollow and somehow not his. “You thought that I couldn’t handle it.”

“I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

Their eyes met.

“So it’s better to lie? To pretend like nothing’s wrong?” Yuuri asked. He let out a chuckle that sounded more like a sob. His eyes were dry, though. “Since we met, I admired your honesty. I thought you always said what’s on your mind. That was a lie too, I guess.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” Viktor snapped, unable to help himself. “I did it for your own good.”

“No, you did it for yours,” Yuuri replied without reacting to his coach’s harsh tone. “You wanted to feel like a champion on ice one last time, and you used me to do that.”

“I never wanted you to feel this way.”

“Maybe you should have never come to Japan,” Yuuri replied bluntly. Viktor’s breath stilled in his lungs.

“Yuuri-,”

"Maybe we should have never met. That way, you'd still have a knee, and I'd still have a heart," Yuuri finished smoothly. Viktor regarded him for a moment and sighed.

“Since when are you so cold-blooded?”

“I guess betrayal changes people.”

“Aren’t you being a tad overdramatic? It’s not like a cheated on you or something,” Viktor mumbled.

"You took advantage of me," Yuuri said punitively. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You wanted a little wilting flower so that you could play at being God. Well, guess what? I feel like shit. Because now I'm thinking that you'll never be proud of me. Now I even doubt myself. Why would I  _want_ you to be proud of me?”

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t you  _tell_ me?”

“Because I’m selfish, okay?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened just a little.

"I only came to Japan to see some doctor, hoping to get my knee fixed. They said no. I was on my way to the airport when I got the video from Yuri. I was upset and hopeless, but when I saw you, I saw potential, and I just made this decision without thinking. That I would coach you. If not me, then you can be the champion. That's it. That's all I wanted."

"Is that what you still want?" Yuuri asked. Brown and blue met for a moment, and Viktor closed his eyes, unable to maintain this intensity.

“I don’t know what I want. I know what I don’t want.”

“What don’t you want?”

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Yuuri began to laugh. It was a strange laugh. Seemingly happy on the outside, but the bitterness of it was palpable, it made Viktor want to lunge across the table and shut Yuuri up. He clenched his fists.

“As if I could ever do that,” Yuuri said, calming down a little. “It’s not like I have a say over it.”

“You could walk out that door right now. I know you think what I did was insulting,” Viktor said soberly. Yuuri nodded, seemingly impressed that the older man understood.

“I really couldn’t, though. I think… I think I’m like a stray now,” Yuuri said, his eyes glazed over with bitter mirth.

“A stray?”

“Yeah. My mom used to feed this stray every day. It would come to the onsen begging for food almost at the same hour every single morning. And then my mom forgot to put out something for it. The dog just sat there, by the back door waiting. I remember watching it, thinking it was stupid for waiting.”

“You don’t think it was stupid now?”

“No,” Yuuri said. Another moment of silence passed between them.

“You know I hate you for doing this, right?” The younger skater finally said. Viktor nodded slowly, looking away again. He really had to water the potted plants. They were wilting. His neighbor hadn’t done a good job of looking after them while he’d been gone.

“But I can’t leave. Not anymore. Even though I think you’re the worst asshole in the history of self-righteous assholes, I can’t leave. Not because the Grand Prix final is the day after tomorrow, but because I just…” Yuuri bit his lip, seemingly thinking hard about whether his next line would be too much for him to admit in one night. “Because I can’t imagine myself without you anymore.”

Viktor looked up at him; his lips parted in surprise.

“I know you probably don’t think of me that way. I mean, you kissed me and everything, but it’s not like… we can actually be together, right? I mean, I’m a brat, compared to you and your experience so, you know, I couldn’t blame you for-,”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said in a hushed voice. “Are you confessing to me?”

“One of us has to do it,” Yuuri grumbled, blushing heavily. Viktor’s heart felt like it was about to burst right out of his chest and skyrocket to the moon.

He reached for his crutch slowly and used it to push himself up into a wobbly standing position. Yuuri watched him with wide eyes as he stumbled over, slowly, painfully, one step at a time.

“You idiot, you can’t walk-,”

Viktor ended up falling into Yuuri's lap, grabbing onto him instinctively to prevent himself from crashing to the floor. Yuuri's breath was ragged as it brushed over Viktor's cheek. Pins and needles were running up and down his body, almost as if he was still out in the cold.

"I underestimated you," Viktor whispered. Yuuri's face was so close. His eyes couldn't focus properly. He ended up looking at a four-eyed, two-nosed Yuuri.

“You did,” the younger man agreed, wrapping his arms around Viktor slowly. “It’s okay to have someone to catch you if you fall. You don't… have to be alone in this.”

Viktor bit his bottom lip. Yuuri’s embrace was warm. His heart was beating fast. Both their hearts were.

Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat. A lump of sadness and frustration and guilt. He couldn’t skate. He couldn't enjoy the ice with Yuuri. He couldn’t get a medal. He couldn’t throw a crazy stunt in front of hundreds of people. Everything that he had thought he was… he couldn’t be that anymore.

He couldn’t be Yuuri’s hero.

A choked sob escaped him before he could help it. Yuuri's hand moved. Belatedly, Viktor realized he was rubbing circles on his skin soothingly like one would to an inconsolable child. That was the final straw.

He cried into the crook of Yuuri's neck, wrapped in his embrace securely. He cried for the first time since he'd gotten the diagnosis from his doctors. He cried for the missed opportunities and lost chances, for medals and prizes, for music he would never skate to, for images he would never interpret with his body anymore. He cried for the loss of fame and his fans. He cried for his loneliness.

Yuuri didn’t try to console him by talking. Words had become unnecessary between them a long time ago. Instead, he just sat there, holding Viktor in his arms, letting him exhale all of his anguish, all of his grief. His nose was buried in Viktor’s hair, and he lifted one hand to card through it, pressing Viktor’s face further into his skin.

As elegant as he had been on the ice, Viktor was not a pretty crier. His sobs were uneven, his breathing ragged. Yuuri’s shirt had already become a veritable mess of snot and tears and cotton.

“I’m so s-sorry,” Viktor whispered, hiccupping.

“You should be,” Yuuri breathed, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, though. I forgive you.”

“W-why?”

Viktor looked up, red-rimmed blue eyes locking onto Yuuri’s. The younger man was unnervingly calm, almost serene. As if Viktor’s admittance, his desperation and rawness had brought him absolution.

“Because you’re still my coach. Even though you’re so, so stupid.”  

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, eyes wide. A great pressure had been lifted off his chest, a weight he hadn’t known he’d kept there. Yuuri forgave him. For lying. For using him. For changing his mind about using him. For patronizing him.

"I told you," Yuuri said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I can't leave you. And you're not allowed to leave me either. We're a team, right?"

“T-the b-best,” Viktor found himself saying. Yuuri hummed in agreement and lifted Viktor’s chin with a single finger.

“Besides, I can’t leave my inspiration for skating. I told you, it’s love. And you’re… just that.”

"I love you too," the blond man said, almost reflexively. His cheeks became even redder, and he tried to slip out of Yuuri's embrace before he embarrassed himself any further.

“No way,” Yuuri said, tugging Viktor back down into his lap.  “You don’t get to say that and walk away.”

“I can’t walk away. I have a crutch.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then the kitchen was filled with sounds of wet, messy laughter.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's more lighthearted and fluffy in preparation for tomorrow's episode!

The next morning, Yuuri didn't know what to do with himself. He woke up in Viktor's bed, the man's cheek resting against his chest, his leg, which was supposed to have been elevated on a stack of pillows, tangled between his own.

It was a surreal kind of moment. The crystalline air of the morning and Yuuri's myopic view of the room only contributed to the weirdness of it. Sure, they'd slept together before – but this was different. Somehow, Yuuri's life was suddenly split into before yesterday and after it. Before Viktor had crumbled in his arms, admitting to weakness, he hadn't wanted Yuuri to see, and after. Now, Yuuri found himself looking at a man instead of an ephemeral god-like being. A being who had served as his inspiration, as abstract as Viktor had been in Yuuri's eyes for years on end.

Yuuri found himself studying Viktor’s features. He had been sure he had all of Viktor committed to memory, down to his very private bits which admittedly, the man showed off with alarming frequency. But now that he was really, really looking, taking in the sleeping face of the man who meant so much to him… He saw something else.

He saw the stubborn child who instead of going into football or hockey like the rest of his male peers, had pulled on a leotard. He saw the teenager who had spent sleepless nights and tiresome days at the skating rink, working his feet into a bloody mess until he had no longer been able to feel them. He saw the young man whose ambition had driven him to ignore those who'd put him down. Those who had called him names and envied him. Finally, he saw the vulnerable, beautiful creature that Viktor had grown into. A profoundly beautiful, deeply flawed creature.

Viktor's eyes, now that they were closed, still looked slightly swollen from yesterday's breakdown. His face was red too, blotchy even. His hair, though silky as usual, was a mess, splayed across Yuuri's clavicle. Viktor's arms were drawn around Yuuri – not in a possessive way, but in the way a child would cling to a comforting toy.

Yuuri found himself thinking that he didn’t know anything about Viktor’s home life. Were his parents still alive? Did they approve of Viktor’s career choice? Had they seen the kiss Viktor had given him in China? What did they think of Yuuri?

Everything before Viktor’s rise to gold was… non-existent in Yuuri’s mind. Up until now, he had somehow believed that Viktor had just sprung into existence, skates and all, and proceeded to win the hearts and minds of figure skating fans everywhere.

How silly.

The former Yuuri would have wanted nothing to do with Viktor's past. An idol was an idol because they existed at the moment, perfect and almost fictional. But now, now that Viktor was human, so, _so_  human, Yuuri wanted more. He wanted to plunge himself into Viktor’s insecurities and unravel them one by one. He wanted to tangle himself up in the strings that held Viktor back and cut them away. He wanted to free Viktor.

The weight on his chest stirred and brown eyes met sleepy blue, surrounded by a slightly pinkish bloodshot tint.

So human.

"You're still here," Viktor breathed as if he hadn't expected Yuuri to stick around after last night. The younger man placed a hand on his hair and nudged him back down, wanting to share the rhythm of his breathing with Viktor. "How come?"

There was a moment of silence.

“Can you hear my heartbeat?”

Viktor was immobile for a second, and then Yuuri felt him nod against his chest.

“That’s… for you,” Yuuri breathed, feeling silly and cliché and so dorky. But instead of laughing his awkwardness off, he lay it on the line, hoping that if Viktor was still the same Viktor he’d seen last night, he would understand.

His prayers were answered when Viktor pulled himself away from Yuuri’s chest, looking him in the eye.

“Yuuri,” he breathed, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. Yuuri let out a small chuckle and cupped Viktor’s face. His thumb found purchase on the man’s sharp cheekbone.

“I’m not leaving. Not now, not ever,” he said seriously. “Not even if you want to get rid of me. I’ll be here for you. Whether you like it or not. It’s… It’s my turn to take care of you, coach.”

The expression on Viktor’s face was priceless. It was about the same as when he’d first seen Yuuri cry in front of him, right before doing his free skate routine in China. Except less stressed, but more… guilty? Or was he just plain touched?

Who knew?

"I'm sorry I'm such a terrible coach," Viktor mumbled, looking down. "I butt in where I'm not supposed to, I'm obnoxious, and I called you names and-,"

“I’m not throwing you a pity party,” Yuuri said with a small grin. “Don’t expect me to say the contrary. Because you  _are_ incredibly annoying and you did call me things that I didn’t appreciate being called.”

“I’m sor-,”

“But that doesn’t mean that it has to change,” Yuuri continued, not letting Viktor spiral into yet another loop of self-deprecation. “We’re partners, right? It’s you, me, and the ice.”

Viktor bit his lower lip. He looked kind of adorable, all unsure and flushed, and puffy. Yuuri was going to have a very easy time getting used to this new, emotional Viktor.

“Can it just be you and me?” Viktor finally asked.

“That depends,” Yuuri said, incapable of not teasing Viktor who somehow reminded him of himself in the earlier days of their acquaintance. Walking on eggshells, constantly surprised and frustrated.

“On what?”

“If you’ll kiss me again.”

Viktor’s eyes met his and the Russian man let out a small chuckle.

"Looks like someone's confidence is through the roof now. What gives?"

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this,” Yuuri said, still smirking, but the seriousness settled in his chest, expanding against the thin walls of his lungs and heart. He had to know. “Are we doing this? Are we really, really doing this? You know it’s gonna get ugly.”

“I know,” Viktor said.

“Russia’s pretty backward when it comes to-,”

“I know. It’s not like Japan has a pride parade for each day of the week either,” Viktor said irritably. “I don’t care. If we have to, we’ll just move base to the U.S. or something. Or Canada. Heaven for figure skating.”

“Hey, don’t just make such decisions-,”

Whatever indignation Yuuri had intended to express, it was cut off by Viktor’s mouth on his own. A moment passed before he lurched into action, letting himself get lost in the feeling and reciprocate. Before, all of their kisses had been controlled by Viktor. Even the fleeting ones after their impromptu kiss in China, all of them had been Viktor’s.

This was  _theirs_.

It was pretty bad, too. Both of them had a severe case of morning breath. And the angle was kind of awkward, leaving Yuuri to crank his neck in a bizarre position. Their noses kept getting in the way, bumping against each other. Why the hell did people even _need_ noses anyway?

Still, it wasn’t too terrible. It was bearable.

It was the best kiss Yuuri had ever experienced.

He did finally pull away, though, because no kiss could last forever. And because he had to get his ass in gear and go practice at the skating rink, since the damned Grand Prix was tomorrow.

“Your breath tastes like ramen. And stomach juice,” he told Viktor who made a face.

“Must you be so unromantic?” He asked, sitting up and letting Yuuri do the same. He winced when he tried to flex his knee.

"One of us has to be practical. Considering the other is a complete airhead who gets himself injured one day before his beloved protégée is due to compete," Yuuri said, getting out of bed and stretching his arms over his head. He noticed Viktor's gaze burning the strip of skin that was left exposed between his T-shirt and his sweatpants.

“I won’t let that get in the way of my coaching,” Viktor said stubbornly. He tried to stand up off the bed and let out a small pained gasp, his bad knee buckling. Yuuri was by his side in a fraction of time, holding him up by the elbow.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

“I’m going. I need to go,” Viktor shot back. “I’ll use the crutch. We’ll get a cab or something.”

“You have a car.”

“I can’t drive in this condition,” Viktor said, frustrated. He noticed the glimmer in Yuuri’s eyes and shook his head adamantly. “And you can’t drive on the right side of the road. Forget about it.”

“It’s good practice for the future,” Yuuri protested.

“Practice on a  _Volga_  and leave my Benz alone.”

After an hour of bantering over a breakfast of yogurt and, well, yogurt, the two of them were finally limping their way down the hallway of the skating rink towards the locker room. Well, Viktor was the one limping, of course, cursing in Russian at the crutch that refused to cooperate. Yuuri was too busy supporting his elbow and thinking about how weirdly hot it was when Viktor cursed in Russian.

That was another thing that Viktor had never done in front of him. Even though he’d been pushy and outright mean to Yuuri, particularly in his heavier days, he had never actually shown to have a potty mouth.

Go figure.

Several minutes later, Yuuri found himself wondering whether Viktor had picked up his choice language from Yurio. The kid, apparently upset that Viktor had shown up when he was supposed to be resting his knee, spewed more venom than a black mamba.

"You!" He rounded on Yuuri, the skate he had been about to put on raised above his head in a very Ides of March kind of way. "How _dare_ you bring Viktor when he’s-,”

“I wouldn’t let him come without me,” Viktor said loudly, making Yurio shut up for a moment as he blinked in confusion.

“That’s what she said,” he finally mumbled, turning on his heel and storming out of the locker room, one of his skates still in his hand.

“He really does need to work on his anger issues,” Viktor said thoughtfully as Yuuri helped him sit on the bench before setting his duffel bag down next to him and shrugging off his coat.

“He looks up to you, you know,” the younger man said. “In his own kind of way. He’s going to be heartbroken when he finds out about how serious your injury is.”

Silence passed between them.

“Viktor?”

“What?” The man mumbled, looking down at his knee with nothing short of anger.

“You  _will_ have to tell him. Tell everyone. Eventually. Well, soon,” Yuuri said, sitting down to get his skates on.

“Why do you have to be so reasonable?”

“Because you aren’t.”

Viktor pouted even more. Yuuri sighed in resignation.

“Viktor, look. I know it’s hard. I know it’s probably going to make you feel horrible about yourself, but… quitting isn’t that bad.”

“How would you know? Skating’s all I have,” Viktor protested.

“I nearly quit once too, remember?” Yuuri said, giving the man a small smile. “And it took you and a lot of working out to get me back on track.”

“I can’t even run anymore,” Viktor said sourly. “I don’t have skating. I don’t have running. I can’t dance. What am I supposed to do now?”

Yuuri got up on his blades and extended his hand to let Viktor up. He tugged on the man’s hand and found himself with an armful of falling Viktor. Their noses touched. Not in the annoying way they had this morning. In a sweet way. A way that Yuuri had kind of fantasized about as a teenage fanboy.

“Me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you know, I fucking cried like a baby bitch when writing this. I swear to god, these two will kill me one day. And I'll die happy. 
> 
> Also, #protectMakkacchin.

Getting to the top was easy. Winning was easy.

It was trying to keep his wits together afterwards, with the gold medal hanging around his neck that was hard.

He had placed second in the Rostelecom competition and gone on to the final.

Only to win.

Yuuri sat in front of the press, his knee bouncing nervously under the table. To his left was Viktor, who had maneuvered into the room to thunderous applause with only his skater for support. He had decided to ditch the crutch at least for now. This was Yuuri’s moment, after all; and he had to respect that (no matter how much he was itching to drag all the attention to himself).

As soon as the journalists were seated and the blinding camera flashes had somewhat abated, Yuuri felt a thousand time more nervous. He realized then and there that in spite of everything that had been at stake in the Grand Prix finals, he had never expected to take gold. His ultimate goal had been to skate under Viktor’s tutelage in the final. That had been it.

Winning had never been part of the bargain.

“It’s all right, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, leaning in to place a hand over the younger man’s. Cameras went off one more time and Yuuri was suddenly very grateful indeed that this final competition had not taken place in Russia.

Yuuri nodded as Viktor pressed a kiss to his cheek, much to the journalists’ delight. They were positively salivating here. For once, there weren’t just sports reporters here; Viktor and Yuuri’s unlikely alliance had become a matter of pop culture. Just the day before, Yuuri had received a message from his sister with a picture of what could only be described and Viktor and Yuuri bobble heads. It was scary and exciting. But mostly scary at this point.

“Come on, love, you should thank everyone,” Viktor said encouragingly. Right. Viktor knew how to do these things. He had won many times, after all. Yuuri gulped, trying to moisturize his throat just a little before leaning in to speak into the microphone.

“Um, h-hello everyone,” he said nervously. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was Viktor’s hand over his own, the older man’s fingers tracing circles on Yuuri’s skin.

The press became quieter, all eyes on the two of them. Yuuri had to let out another nervous breath.

“Um, I’d like to thank my family and my friends for supporting me in this competition. And all of my rivals on the ice, they’re the ones who, uh, challenged me and made me improve,” he said, gaining a little bit of confidence. “I’d also like to thank all the sponsors and the countries that hosted the Gran Prix. It’s… it’s a big deal for us skaters and the organizers did a great job.”

He bit his lip, glancing at Viktor.

“Finally, I’d like to thank my coach.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled.

“I know that… many people, well, most people, thought that Viktor was better off on ice. Without a consecutive loser to drag him down,” Yuuri said. He felt Viktor tense up a little next to him, ready to contradict. To prevent that, he took Viktor’s fingers into his own hand and gave them a little squeeze. _Let me say this. Please._ Viktor’s shoulders relaxed a little.

“And I thought so too. Because when Viktor came to Japan out of the blue, I thought… he would give up on me when he saw how hopeless I was. But it turns out, I wasn’t that hopeless. It was nothing that Viktor Nikiforov couldn’t fix. And… he didn’t give up. Sure, he was frustrated with me… still is, I guess, and I’ll get an earful about my jumps when this is over-,” there was a smattering of laughter from the journalists. Yuuri found himself relaxing a little more.

“But I know that Viktor is the only coach for me. He makes me better,” Yuuri finished, finally chancing a look at Viktor who seemed to have entered some sort of stupor. The blond man sat there, his eyes wide, lips parted.

He looked positively serene. Blissed out, even.

“Viktor!” Finally one of the journalists shouted out. The Russian jumped a little.

“Yes, Tanya?” He said, cocking his head to the side in his casually flirtatious manner that made Yuuri want to grab him by the back of his collar and drag him away.

“Do you have anything to say in response?” Tanya, the reporter from _Спортивный Еженедельник,_ asked, her eyes blazing with mirth.

“Just that Yuuri is completely right,” the man replied smoothly, as if he hadn’t been sitting there looking like a complete dummy just seconds before. He turned to face Yuuri and dipped his face closer. The cameras went off again.

“I _am_ the only coach for Yuuri.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. Banter was easy. He could do banter.

“And I’m the only skater for Viktor, obviously,” he said, eliciting murmurs of approval from the press.

“Viktor, having said that, will you be returning to the ice?” Another reporter asked. The magical moment between the two of them immediately dissolved. This was the hard part, wasn’t it?

Yuuri squeezed Viktor’s fingers again. _I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. I’ll be by your side._

Viktor sighed.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with all of you, I’m afraid,” he said quietly. The journalists, as if acting on some primal instinct, all leaned in at the same time, their recorders and microphones and cameras all pinpointing Viktor.

“I will not be able to return to skate next season,” Viktor finally squeezed out. The cockiness he usually carried in his voice was gone, replaced by a melancholic hollowness. Yuuri wasn’t the only one who noticed the change of mood.

“I… Have sustained multiple injuries throughout my career and a couple of weeks ago, I was forced to face reality,” Viktor continued. His voice shook a little, and it took all of Yuuri’s willpower not to fling himself at the man and shield him from view.

“I was in denial for a long time. Several years, in fact. When I took time off, before coming to Japan to coach Yuuri, I was actually looking into every possibility of at least a temporary fix. You see, I… I have damaged my knee far too extensively to be able to pull of even the simplest of jumps,” Viktor finished.

There was a moment of complete silence. Then all hell broke loose.

They were like animals. Yelling over each other, waving their hands, flashes going off every split-second. Yuuri didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there, resolute by Viktor’s side. The blond was like a statue, rigid back and all.

The chaos died down a little when the journalists realized they wouldn’t get anything out of Viktor this way.

“I… I think there is some poetry in it, though,” Viktor finally said, his voice still shaking finely. He glanced at Yuuri with a watery smile. “It is in the nature of things that stars have to go out eventually. Their light dims, a simple truth of our universe. And they are replaced by younger, brighter ones.”

Viktor’s eyes met Yuuri’s.

“There is no star I’d rather take my place than this one right here,” he choked out, finally giving into his tears as he stood up, stumbling a little. He was still holding Yuuri’s hand, so the younger man didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to stand too?

“Thank you,” Viktor said suddenly, and inclined his upper body in a perfect imitation of a correct Japanese bow. A very deep bow. A bow that one would give to a shrine. Yuuri sat, momentarily speechless. Viktor knew he was aware of the significance of it; the press probably wasn’t, at least, for now. The Japanese journalists would probably let them know soon enough.

“I thank all of you for watching me rise to the top, for following my career and inspiring me to reach new heights,” Viktor said, his eyes fixed on the table that separated him from the press. “My life would have been so very different if you weren’t there.”

He finally straightened out, moving his hand to use Yuuri’s shoulder for support. His knee was probably aching.

“But I’d like you to remember that whatever Viktor Nikiforov hasn’t managed to do in the short time he’s had on ice… Yuuri Katsuki will do it. And he will do it better.”

There was a clatter as some of the notepads crashed to the floor. The journalists in the room shuffled to stand. Then they clapped.

They were giving Viktor his last standing ovation as a skater. Yuuri had to bite his lip to stop himself from losing it then and there. He sat, taking in Viktor’s stance. The man’s arms were open, his head slightly tilted towards the ceiling, as if he was riding the waves of the applause, allowing them to crash over him, envelop him, entice him one last time.

Yuuri watched Viktor with pride and sadness and a strange hurt in his chest that made his own eyes itch with tears.

Then, he took Viktor’s hand again and stood. Viktor turned towards him, surprised by the sudden movement.

Yuuri bowed to him, bending at the waist.

“Th-thank you,” he whispered, so that only Viktor could hear. “I w-won’t let you down.”

There were tears traveling down both their cheeks, and they shone under the bright lights of the cameras. The intrusion wasn’t welcome, Yuuri thought, so he did the only thing he could do to block out the outside world.

 He kissed Viktor’s lips to thunderous applause.

Viktor nearly lost balance and his arms ended up around Yuuri’s waist for support as he let himself be kissed. The cameras were going nuts, Yuuri was pretty sure that they would start a fire in another second or two.

But there was no fire.

Just them.

Them and the ice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the second to last chapter! Your guys' comments are absolutely amazing, I never expected this story to get this much love! <3

****

“First, congratulations to you both, the victory at the Grand Prix finals made both Russia and Japan very, very proud!”

Viktor and Yuuri glanced at each other, smiling. Yuuri found himself leaning into the other man’s shoulder just a little bit at the praise, and felt Viktor shift closer on the ridiculously small sofa they had been assigned to. The invitation for this interview had come out of nowhere, really – this morning, Viktor had received a call from the Russian First Channel, with some tearful intern practically begging them to come on the evening show. Viktor had been reluctant to agree at first, given Yuuri’s camera nervousness; but in the end, he supposed pushing him off the cliff was a good strategy to get the younger man started on his life in the spotlight.

“Thank you, Andrey, we worked very hard for this,” Viktor said with a blazing smile. “Well, I was the one carrying more of the work load, obviously.”

“Hey!” Yuuri protested, grinning.

The host, whose hair was so pull of product, he actually had a weird-looking halo around his head due to the studio lights, smiled politely. Apparently, this was the only talk show host on the Russian First Channel who spoke good enough English to carry a sufficient conversation with the two. Viktor had refused to talk in Russian out of deference for Yuuri, which had pissed off a lot of people.

“Now, since the Grand Prix Series is over, what are your plans?”

Yuuri tensed up visibly, wringing his fingers in his lap together. They hadn’t actually talked about that, yet; which was a source of a lot of anxiety on Yuuri’s part. The initial deal had been Viktor getting Yuuri to win this Grand Prix. That had been it. But then came the promises, the touches, the little sweet nothings, and… Yuuri had gotten attached. Too attached to even consider letting Viktor walk, or well, limp, at this point, away from him.

“What are you talking about?” Viktor asked with his usual flair. “We only have a year left until the next Grand Prix Final!”

“So you are planning to return to Japan, then?”

“If Yuuri and his family will have me, then sure,” Viktor said with a shrug. “As long as I can still be useful to him, I will be by his side.”

Andrey leaned back, crossing his arms.

“You are planning on living in Yuuri’s family home?”

“If they will have me, of course,” Viktor said, glancing at Yuuri who was too tense to answer.

Andrey let out a frustrated sigh as if that wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for. He leaned back in, staring the two of them down over the top of his glasses. Yuuri had to fight against his initial urge to make himself appear smaller.

“You are aware that there has been some speculation about the nature of your relationship,” he said, his voice inviting.

 _Ah, there it is,_ Viktor thought to himself. Of course, he had known that this was a possibility. After all, Yuuri and him weren’t exactly secretive about their public displays of affection. But this was Russia. This was a whole new territory. And a dangerous terrain to explore, too.

“I suppose it’s unavoidable, given the amount of scrutiny we’re under,” he replied, cocking his head to the side. Yuuri nodded, trying not to show his nervousness. He had spent too much time in the recent days googling Russia’s draconian laws on same-sex relationships… and worse yet, the unspoken rules that governed the people’s mentality. It had taken Viktor and a truckload of kisses to pull him away from his phone after seeing a plethora of horrifying bashings.

“Would you like to clear that up right now, Viktor?” Andrey asked innocently. “Surely, there are people who could misunderstand the kind of closeness you display with something… unsavory.”

Yuuri watched Viktor’s hands clench into fists in his lap. He could only hope that the camera had zoomed in on the man’s face at that moment.

Viktor glanced at Yuuri for a split-second, and the Japanese skater suddenly felt a sense of dread wash over him.

“I suppose it is unsavory to mistake a romantic relationship for a purely platonic one,” Viktor said mock-casually.

Yuuri wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sure, they had kissed. He surmised that most of Russia had seen it, even if it had been censored on state television. The Internet was a notorious disseminator of various scandals, after all. But this was… this was beyond him yelling into the camera back when he had just taken his first win in preparation for the Grand Prix that he felt _something like love_ for Viktor. This was beyond Viktor hugging him without holding back, all smiles. This was even beyond that kiss which a mind in denial could have twisted into just an expression of excitement. After all, men in Russia did kiss each other on the cheeks and sometimes even the lips, as uncommon as it was nowadays.

This was totally different.

This was exhilarating and scary and wonderful and frightening and anxiety-inducing and… this was everything.

After a long pause, Andrey sighed. Viktor seemed to gloat at the notion that he had just made the man’s job more difficult. After all, the anti-gay propaganda law banned media coverage of homosexual relationships, or portraying them as positive. What was worse, there were probably thousands of young skaters watching across the country, from Chukotka to Kaliningrad.

“You are saying that your affectionate gestures are… purely platonic, right? The Internet can be such a vicious place sometimes-,”

“Did I stutter?” Viktor asked. Yuuri let out a little gasp and suddenly found his hand cupped in Viktor’s. He thought he heard a collective intake of breath coming from the camera crew. Andrey’s face got redder by the second.

“Yuuri and I are in a romantic relationship with each other. I will be living with him in Japan, in his family home, and I will continue to be his coach. And his lover.”

Andrey was chewing on his bottom lip so viciously Yuuri thought he was going to see some raw meat soon.

“Yuuri, do you have anything to say about that?” He asked, turning towards the other man. Choosing to attack the weaker prey here.

“Huh?”

Both Andrey and Viktor’s eyes were now on him, and Yuuri felt like he was going to go nuts. Was he supposed to say that what Viktor had told the entirety of Russia was true? That they were in love with each other? Sleeping together? Or was he supposed to try and salvage just a little of Viktor’s reputation and slink back into the shadows of uncertain camaraderie?

“Are you and Viktor together? Why are you hesitating?” Andrey asked, obviously relishing Yuuri’s meekness. “Is he _pressuring_ you into doing things you don’t want to do?”

Oh, _hell_ no.  

Suddenly, all of Yuuri’s nervousness was gone. What replaced it was a strange clarity, a strange, transparent sort of anger than made his blood boil and his nerves buzz. He lifted his gaze, looking Andrey dead in the eye. Viktor squeezed his hand but he barely felt it.

“Are you implying that Viktor is abusing me?” Yuuri asked quietly. He bit the inside of his cheek, inhaling deeply before tugging Viktor closely – demonstratively so.

“Is this what you people do to your heroes? You follow them, worship them, and then as soon as they appear human, you cast them aside?”

“Yuuri-,”

“No.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor whose eyes were wide and somehow… shiny.

“Viktor gave everything to his skating career. He represented his country, he represented _you people,_ he ruined his health to be the best, and you fed off his victories, but as soon as he doesn’t conform to your _sick_ standards, that’s what you do? Write him off as some sort of… criminal?” Yuuri asked, his breath coming out in rapid bursts. He had never been this angry. Never. This was… this was dangerous, he knew that, he knew that he had to contain himself and not let it go too far, but that rational thought was somewhere deep at the back of his mind.

The only certainty was that Viktor’s hand in his was shaking and that Andrey was losing his patience.

“I implied nothing, I-,”

“You actually did ask Yuuri if I was pressuring him,” Viktor spoke up, arching an eyebrow at the man.

“You have to admit that this kind of relationship is-,”

“Is what?” Viktor asked. “Look around you. The world is changing. It’s changing for the better, it’s becoming a place where Yuuri and I can love each other without having to sneak around. But you people are so _afraid_ of what’s outside of your comfort zone that you cling to whatever bone the government throws to you. Don’t you realize? They want you to hate everything foreign. Foreign food, foreign currency, foreign _love_. A little more, and who knows, maybe figure skating will be banned too!”  

Yuuri watched in fascination as Viktor unraveled. It was heartbreaking and beautiful and… somehow felt like the most important thing he’d ever witnessed in his life.

“Is this a protest, then?” Andrey asked finally.

“No,” Viktor said, shaking his head. He stood up shakily, drawing Yuuri up with him. He looked down at the interviewer who looked like he was about to call in security and _make_ them sit down.

“This is an epiphany,” Viktor said finally. “I wasted my life _trying_ to be free. Even when I did daring things, I still conformed. I still blindly believed that this country would change. But I guess it takes someone to step up and start changing it. I’m done trying to be free. I _am_ now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“If this is the kind of treatment Yuuri and I and anyone else who just wants to _love_ is getting here, then I don’t want to be part of it.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Viktor-,”

“No, Yuuri. I’m done. If it comes to this, then I guess I’m not Russian.”

With that, he tugged Yuuri close and pressed a vicious, angry, desperate kiss to his lips. Yuuri let out a squeak of surprise, intimidated by how much _emotion_ Viktor was pouring into it. But Viktor needed this. He _had_ needed this for the longest time. Ever since he’d first realized that he didn’t really care about gender, ever since he’d first kissed another man, Viktor had condemned himself to a living a semi-life, only allowing himself pleasure when he’d known he wouldn’t be caught.

As soon as they parted, Viktor tugged on Yuuri’s hand, limping out of the studio with his favorite skater in tow.

* * *

“Kind of a pity,” Viktor said as he watched the clouds float by. This time, they were flying business class – having gotten bumped up due to his crutch and his charming smile.

“What is?” Yuuri asked, snuggling under the free blanket they were sharing and turning onto his side.

“That they didn’t air it. I was pretty sure it was a live broadcast,” he older man said, smirking. Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“You would have been arrested for that then, me too. With kids watching and all.”

Viktor laughed.

“Well, we know we at least have one ally in the Russian media. Whoever leaked that footage on YouTube,” he said, snorting. “Putin’s probably drawing up my death warrant or something right now.”

Yuuri chuckled. And then frowned.

“Wait, you’re not serious-,”

“They're not gonna doing anything drastic. We’re _very_ high profile, and the U.S. would crack down on Russia if they did something that outwardly aggressive towards a gay person. The power of the media is amazing,” Viktor replied lazily.

“But what if-,”

“Then I’ll just marry you and become Japanese.”

“Japan doesn’t really recognize-,”

“Or I’ll apply for asylum. Claim to be a refugee. Surely, they won’t let the coach of the great Yuuri Katsuki get arrested? The fangirls would go nuts with the jail fanfiction.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor for a long time before sighing and placing a kiss on his lips.

“I suppose I’ll just have to stay on top, then. So they can’t touch you.”

“Seems like a fair trade.”

“Trade? For what?”

“Excuse me?” Viktor asked, scoffing in mock offense. “Have you _seen_ this body?”

Their laughter woke up the lady across the aisle.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you guys were wondering: 
> 
> \- Russia's gay propaganda law: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_gay_propaganda_law  
> \- Russia's payment system proposal: http://www.cbc.ca/beta/news/business/crimea-crisis-russia-to-create-own-payment-system-as-sanctions-threaten-1.2588532  
> \- Russia's food embargo: https://www.rt.com/business/348916-putin-prolongs-food-embargo/
> 
> Disclaimer: as Hannaclock pointed out, the possibility of Viktor actually getting arrested is virtually non-existent. However, I maintain that due to the fact that the show could have potentially been aired on television and young viewers could have seen it, I think there is legitimate ground for concern. 
> 
> "Article 1 of the bill amended On Protecting Children from Information Harmful to Their Health and Development with a provision classifying "propaganda of non-traditional sexual relationships" as a class of materials that must not be distributed among minors. The term is defined as materials that are "[aimed] at causing minors to form non-traditional sexual predispositions, notions of attractiveness of non-traditional sexual relationships, distorted ideas about the equal social value of traditional and non-traditional sexual relationships, or imposing information about non-traditional sexual relationships which raises interest in such relationships insofar as these acts do not amount to a criminal offence.""


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG that episode. THAT. DAMN. EPISODE. THAT. DAMN. KISS ON THE HAND. THAT DAMN. PROPOSAL.

“I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Yuuri said quietly, his heart hammering away in his chest as he looked down at his laptop screen. Viktor’s shoulder nudged his and he glanced sideways to see the man’s excited face an inch away from his own. He couldn’t help but smile.

“This is it,” Viktor repeated. “You sure you want to do it this way?”

“It’s better than the press finding out through Phichit’s Instagram account,” Yuuri said, biting his lip.

 “You know there’s going to be a lot of media attention. Again,” Viktor noted, nuzzling Yuuri’s neck gently. The younger man rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like the attention,” he teased. “You’re the biggest attention-seeker since Chris. And the guy had multiple orgasms on the ice.”

Viktor made a face.

“Did you have to bring him up when we’re about to make one of the biggest decisions of our lives?” He asked, kissing Yuuri behind the ear. “It’s bad enough that you insisted on putting him on the list.”

“I only did it to rub his face in it,” Yuuri drawled, eliciting a laugh from the Russian.

“You know, it astounds me how so many people considered you innocent for such a long time,” Viktor teased. “You are clearly the devil incarnate.”

“Excuse you, I am a pork cutlet bowl fatale,” Yuuri corrected. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them back up, the entire scene making him look like a know it all _megane_ anime character.

“You are my little piggy,” Viktor said, kissing Yuuri’s hand before tugging on it and lowering it to the trackpad. “Let’s do it.”

“Let’s.”

_“Hey, this is Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki and we have a big announcement to make!”_

_First of all, Yuuri will be competing in the next figure skating season! We decided it’s too early for him to retire, so he will be joining his friends on the ice in the next Grand Prix Finals for sure! Of course, I, Viktor, will remain his coach!_

_And second, we’re getting married. Like, for realsies, not metaphorically or in a weird platonic Greek way. We’re getting married in Shibuya next month! Why wait?_

_Anyway, that’s all!”_

About two minutes after they uploaded the message to their blog, Yuuri had to turn off his phone for fear of it doing a Samsung Galaxy Note on him and blowing up with all the sudden calls and messages coming in at the same time. Viktor’s own phone had been left without charge for the past several weeks, to which Yuuri was eternally grateful, since it meant that less of their private life was put on display since Viktor’s access to Instagram was severely limited.

“And here comes the backlash,” Viktor said, flopping onto his back, his leg resting on a pile of pillows. He had just gotten his brace off a couple of weeks ago and was still supposed to be taking it easy – which meant, of course, that he’d immediately run to Hasetsu Ice Castle to try out his quadruple toe loop. That was, until Yuuri had caught him and dragged him back home by the scruff of his neck.

“You know we’ll have to talk to at least some of them eventually,” the Russian told Yuuri who sighed deeply, snuggling against his side, his arm splayed across Viktor’s chest. He closed his eyes, recalling the first time they’d slept like this – but with their position reversed, Viktor’s steady weight on top of him as he’d tried to get Yuuri to nap before the Cup of China competition.

“Later,” Yuuri breathed, inhaling the clean scent of Viktor’s shower gel. “I don’t want to talk to the world right now. I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

“You know we actually do have the rest of our lives?” Viktor asked, smirking up at the ceiling. “That’s sort of what the whole concept of marriage is about, piggy.”

“I swear, one day I will come up with a creative enough way to make you stop calling me that.”

“But until that day, you’re my little piggy and you love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Yuuri said, taking Viktor’s hand and twining their fingers together. Their hands were almost the same size but Viktor’s fingers were longer, more elegant, slim, almost like a pianist’s hands. Oh, how those fingers could excite him, teasing him with feather-light touches and twisting in his hair.

“I love you too, Yuuri,” Viktor replied. Yuuri didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling. He looked at their ring fingers, deciding that he very much liked the sight of matching silver bands on them. These rings would be their wedding rings too, to keep things simple, but when they were alone, they couldn’t resist wearing them. Until now, at least.

Now, the whole world knew that soon enough, they were going to do it.

Actually do it.

“Are you going to invite your dad?” Yuuri asked quietly, playing with Viktor’s hand absent-mindedly. He felt the older man stiffen a little beneath him.

“I sent him a letter. And a ticket. They should reach Russia soon. He doesn’t… use the internet that much,” Viktor replied. “I don’t know if he’ll come. He probably won’t. He doesn’t…”

“Like people like us?” Yuuri asked quietly, glancing up at his fiancé. Viktor nodded, biting his lip. “I’m sure he’ll at least… call.”

“And say what? That he wishes I was dead instead of gay?” Viktor asked with a humorless laugh. “I remember him talking about it, when I just started figure skating. Mom and him just divorced, and he drank a lot, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the booze talking. It was him.”

“What happened?” Yuuri asked carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Viktor shook his head.

“I never told anyone before,” he said. “As your coach, I should be honest with you, right?”

Yuuri chuckled.

“Again with the coach stuff.”

“I take pride in coaching a champion, I’ll have you know,” Viktor said before his tone turned serious again. “He saw the costume I was supposed to wear for my first recital and just… blew up in my face. It’s kind of weird, huh? Back in the day, people used to revere figure skaters in Russia. People like Rodnina and Zaitsev… They were heroes because they brought glory to the country. And my dad thought so too. At least, when it was _them._ Just not their son.”

Yuuri pressed a kiss to Viktor’s hand silently, encouraging him to speak.

“So, I came home one day wearing my costume after practice. It was a simple thing, nothing as scandalous as what I wore later. Just a little tight around, well, everything, and with sequins sown on the front. Pretty tame, by today’s standards.”

“He told me I looked like a girl and that he was ashamed of sharing a last name with me,” Viktor said, his mouth twisted in a strange, chagrined half-smile. Yuuri squeezed his hand.

“Naturally, I proceeded to win every competition since then and put his last name on every headline, just so that he could see me in my tight little outfits winning gold and becoming a hero,” Viktor finished with satisfaction. Yuuri laughed.

“You have a very good way of proving your point,” he said. “Maybe he’s mellowed out since then.”

“I don’t really know. Since mom died, I lost all interest in seeing him. Moved in with Yakov and started getting serious about my career. And now I’m here.”

“A skating champion many times over and engaged to a man. A foreign man, no less.” Yuuri said, smiling up at Viktor.

“Yeah. Ironic, I guess,” Viktor said, glancing down at the younger man with adoration.

“I’m proud of you,” Yuuri said suddenly, making Viktor’s cheeks color a pretty pink.

“I’m proud of you too. And me. Yeah, I’m pretty amazing,” Viktor said, earning himself a shove from Yuuri. They were about to get into a playful, semi-sexy scuffle when the door opened, and in filed the entire Katsuki family plus Minako plus what looked like half of Hasetsu.

“Yuuri!”

“Yuuri, is it true?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Can we sell tickets?”

That last question came from the Nishigori triplets who were hastily shoved back into the crowd by their mother. Yuuko approached the two of them, bending down at the waist to inspect them as if through a microscope. Yuuri frowned at his best friend, a rebuttal ready on his tongue.

“Approved,” Yuuko announced. She turned towards Viktor, an intimidating figure given her height. “Hurt Yuuri and I’ll shove a skate up your-,”

“Yuuko!” Yuuri interrupted, absolutely horrified.

The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Yuuri, you do realize that you are a _notice me senpai_ success story, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out my new Vikturi story, [The Courtesan!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8694907/chapters/19935934)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG EPISODE 10. I can't even begin... I can't. Yeah. 
> 
> Head's up: homophobia and racism ahead. Because lovely stereotypes.

“Yuuri, did you forget your keys- oh!”

Viktor cursed himself for his nasty habit of not looking through the peephole when the doorbell rang. Yuuri had gone out to get some groceries that they’d forgotten to pick up the night before after a day of nonstop wedding planning and last-minute detailing, and Viktor had been left alone in their Tokyo apartment, scrolling through his Instagram feed disinterestedly.

And now he’d found himself face to face with the last person he had expected to see.

“Father,” he breathed, looking up at the man.

Despite his age, Viktor Nikiforov senior was a man of bustling health. He was about a head taller – which probably made him the tallest person in Japan at the moment – and wider in the shoulders, the remaining tokens of his army days obvious in his straight back and almost painfully correct posture. He didn’t look much like his son, besides the color of his eyes and the stubborn way his fringe refused to lay flat. His face was angular, much more so than Viktor’s, his nose broad and somewhat flat, and his mouth a constant firm line of discontent.

He was an intimidating figure, and he was _here_.

“Vitya,” the man greeted with a nod, as if they were just acquaintances. He had always done that before. Even as a child, Viktor had never gotten hugs from his father. Handshakes were just as good as hugs to Viktor-senior.

Even so, Viktor doubted there would be any hugging involved given the fact that they hadn’t seen each other for over a decade.

“You came,” he breathed. To him, his father looked just the same as he had the last time they’d spoken. The gray hair and frown lines had not changed the man’s presence. The kind of presence that made Viktor want to retreat into the back of the apartment and wait for Yuuri to rescue him.

“You invited me,” his father said, taking the envelope out of his pocket.

“To the wedding,” Viktor said. “How did you find this address?”

His father looked at him as if he wondered how the Earth even managed to rotate with such idiots walking it.

“The return address,” he said simply. Viktor felt like hitting himself over the head with a skate. No, that would be too much. A bowl of katsudon, maybe?

“Right, well… come in?” He said, unsure. “If you want to. I can make you some tea if you’d like.”

“Do you have black tea and lemon?”

Viktor bit the inside of his cheek. This was his father, all right.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s the only proper way to drink tea, right?”

He walked into the apartment, leading his father inside. As soon as the door closed, he felt even more trapped than he had been. They were really going to do this. Talk and stuff. After years of ignoring each other’s existence.

To distract himself, he put on the kettle while his father glanced around the apartment.

“Small,” he said finally.

“That’s how apartments are in Tokyo,” Viktor said quietly, leaning against the counter with his back to the kettle. He didn’t really face his father, though, instead choosing to look at Yuuri’s hideous tie which lay forgotten, draped over the tatami mat they’d made love on the night before.

“Little people. Little space,” Nikiforov-senior grunted, and Viktor clenched his fists, taking offense to that. _Not so little when they won the war against us in oh-five,_ he thought to himself; he knew it was futile to argue with his father about this; to him, there was no greater nation than the Russian.

“I like it here,” he said instead, placing the teabags into the teapot. This was the only kind of black tea they had, if only because Yuuri and him didn’t like it and only kept it around for visitors.

“Where’s your… where is _he_?”

Viktor tried to calm himself as he rummaged through the fridge to find the lemon half that had long been abandoned on the top shelf.

“He went out to get groceries,” he replied. He didn’t want Yuuri to meet his father. Not like this. Part of him had hoped that Viktor-senior would show up after all these years and everything would be good again. That naïveté had been what had caused him to send an invitation to his father in the first place. But now that he was actually _here_ , Viktor felt like this was a really, _really_ bad idea.

“Don’t you get enough food? You’re going to get fat with all that Japanese shit you’re putting in your body. How long has it been since you had a home-cooked meal?”

Viktor sliced the lemon extra hard.

“Yuuri is a great cook,” he gritted out. “I’m learning too. We cook all the time.”

That was true – Yuuri’s experience as the son of an onsen-owning family had taught him all the staples of Japanese cuisine, and Viktor had been willing to learn so that he could surprise Yuuri with dinner and breakfast in bed. Though not perfect, they were getting better and better with each pot of overcooked rice.

“I meant actual food. Buckwheat. Cutlets. Borscht.”

“You know I don’t like borscht,” Viktor said, making a face. He’d always had an aversion to it, because of the smell and the color of it. It reminded him of blood, an absurd yet unshakeable comparison. Leave the borscht to Yurio.

“You were always a freak.”

Viktor slammed the knife onto the counter.

“Dad, why are you here?” He asked, crossing his arms. “Did you come all the way to Japan to insult me and my way of life?”

“I came to see how you were doing,” Viktor-senior said, cocking his head to the side as if he had expected a different reaction from his son. But the days of just _taking it_ were over for Viktor.

“I’m not a child anymore, dad,” he said, standing tall. “I am twenty-eight and I have a fiancé and a life and a career. I won’t let you insult that.”

“You have a career!” His father scoffed. “As what? One of those flittering faeries that wear spandex and show their dicks off on the ice?”

“We wear dance belts,” Viktor gritted out. His father rolled his eyes.

“You are a _joke_ , Vitya,” he said, leaning over the counter to intimidate the younger man. “Your career, your life, your _fiancé_ , if you can even call this _perversion_ marriage-,”

“Get out!”

The two of them stared at each other, eyes wide. Viktor’s with rage and his father’s with shock. Viktor had never dared yell. He had never dared oppose.

Viktor was still a timid fifteen-year-old in his father’s mind.

“Get out of my home,” Viktor repeated, this time quietly, dangerously. Anyone who knew him well would back away now. Even Yurio knew that this was the point that one could never reach with Viktor.

“You need to stop playing house with that narrowed-eyed freak and become a normal human being.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t get out now, I will-,”

“Viktor?”

The father and son turned towards the door to see Yuuri standing there with a large bag in his hand, just back from the convenience store. His eyes were wide and his breath was shallow, as if he had heard what was going on at the door and run into the apartment to make sure that Viktor was still alive.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed, feeling like his knees were going to buckle. He’d never been so relieved to see him before. Even though Yuuri was half his father’s size and the shyest person in the world unless he had been drinking glass after glass of champagne, seeing Yuuri made Viktor feel like he could do this.

“Это он?” [“Is this him?”] His father asked, looking at Yuuri as if he were something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe. Yuuri sensed danger, and dropped the bag, trying to appear taller.

“English?” Viktor’s father asked, and Yuuri nodded numbly.

“I’ll tell you this. You leave my son alone,” the older man said, stalking over and poking Yuuri in the chest to make his point. “He don’t need you in life.”

Viktor watched in horrified fascination as Yuuri’s face changed from fear to horror to something else, something he’d only ever seen before once, during that interview they’d given in Russia.

“I’m sorry, but I think Viktor can decide what he needs for himself,” the Japanese man said evenly. Viktor’s father looked at him with disdain.

“He is confuse,” he replied, pressing on.

 “I actually think that for the first time in his life, he’s pretty sure of what he’s doing.”

Viktor gaped at his fiancé who pushed past his dad and walked further into the apartment and slung an arm over Viktor’s shoulder pointedly. He himself was paralyzed. Nobody spoke to his father like this. Not even his late mother who had been a quaint and fearful woman – the perfect wife for someone like Viktor-senior.

“Not natural, this. You… perverts.”

“I think what isn’t natural is a father hating his son for choosing his own path in life,” Yuuri said, his voice strangely calm. Viktor could only imagine what was going on in his head.

“Now, you can either accept that this is the way Viktor is, or you can walk out that door and never bother us again.”

There was a long silence. Viktor’s father looked from his son to Yuuri and back. Viktor desperately wanted to say something, but couldn’t, his jaws refused to move and his tongue was like lead. This was the embodiment of his worst nightmare. His father was not a nice man, he was physical when he was angry, and Viktor knew that neither him nor Yuuri stood chance in a fight against him. The weight of his phone in his pocket was the only thing that comforted him.

Turned out that it was unnecessary, though.

Viktor’s father let out a grunt and then turned on his heel, heading for the door in a huff, still as straight-backed and rigid as ever.

“Надеюсь, ты знаешь, что делаешь.” [“I hope you know what you’re doing.”]

The door slammed shut with a bang. The kettle whistled.

Viktor’s knees finally gave out as he slid down the length of Yuuri’s body. To his surprise, Yuuri came down together with him, shaking like a leaf.

“Yuuri?”

“That… was the single… scariest thing… in my life,” the younger man breathed, his face red and eyes wide with fear. Viktor looked at him for a long time and then let out a laugh.

“And here I thought you were my knight in shining armor,” he said lightly. The strange pressure he’d felt since he’d seen his father was gone. The ghost of him hanging over Viktor’s head ever since he’d left home… gone.

The only thing left was Yuuri and the space between them.

That had to be remedied, so Viktor leaned in, kissing Yuuri on the lips fiercely.

“I love you,” he mumbled, leaning his forehead against Yuuri’s and closing his eyes as he held on fast to his fiancé. “God, I love you so much, you have no idea.”

“I h-hope your dad isn’t mad that I said that stuff-,”

“Oh, he’s mad all right,” Viktor laughed, kissing Yuuri’s nose, his cheeks, his lips over and over again. Yuuri let out a terrified little squeak.

“And I am so, so in love with you.”  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though episode 11 was angsty, I am here with the wedding! Thank you all for reading this and commenting on it, it made my days brighter!

Yuuri felt like he was about to go out on the ice. Well, he _was_ , actually, but not in the way he usually was nervous about. His thoughts were a jumbled mess and his heart was pounding against his ribcage a bit too hard for his liking. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears – probably another sign that he had to cut down on the _katsudon_ , it just had to be all that delicious goodness clogging his arteries.

“Hey, pig, you wanna move your- oh.”

Yuuri turned around, shaking from head to toe, to see Yurio glare at him from across the room. It was kind of ridiculous how pretty he looked in his _Agape_ costume, which Viktor had blackmailed him into wearing today. It was also ridiculous that he looked prettier than the groom, even though he was supposed to be best man in this. Yuuri had grudgingly accepted Chris Giaccometti as Viktor’s best man (providing that he would be on his absolute finest behavior and there would be no stripper poles involved until _after_ the formal part was done), and insisted on Yurio being his. Phichit had graciously accepted his choice, joking that he’d be best man when they renewed their vows.

But now, Yuuri was starting to feel like there wouldn’t be any vows. His anxiety was at top-level, and the knot in his stomach felt like lead.

Damn it, he wanted Viktor here.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Yurio said, quieter this time, as he walked into the room tentatively. Yuuri found himself shaking his head.

“I don’t think I c-,”

“You won the fucking Grand Prix Final, okay?” Yurio said wildly, elbowing Yuuri in the ribs so that he could stand next to him in front of the mirror. They looked at each other through it, Yuuri in his (well, Viktor’s) dark costume, and Yurio in the light one. Just like they had done over a year ago.

How many things had changed since then.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Yurio breathed, and the older man breathed out slowly, trying to gather his wits. “It’s been a long time coming, though.”

“W-what was?”

“The wedding,” Yurio said with a snort. “You two were making eyes at each other since day one.”

“We weren’t! Really, we weren’t, I was just fascinated, like you, like everyone,” Yuuri said nervously, smoothing the thin fabric over his abdomen.

“And he was fascinated with you,” the blond man said with a laugh. “Fuck, I remember him after we left the banquet, the next morning, all the way to the airport, he was just talking my ear off about you and how he wanted to talk to you before we left and… and then you just had to go and walk away and make him miserable.”

Yuuri let out a nervous chuckle.

“To be fair, I didn’t remember the banquet.”

“So you’ve said. Which reminds me. No more than three glasses tonight, and the same applies to Chris. Wouldn’t want Minako to die of nosebleed.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever died from a nosebleed.”

“Considering Chris and yours moves?” Yurio asked, a smirk on his face. “I was surprised I wasn’t asked to leave the banquet, being a minor and all.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands.

“Pig, come on,” Yurio said with a groan, tugging on Yuuri’s wrists to pull his hands away. He looked up at him and suddenly, Yuuri was enveloped in the weirdest, most awkward hug in the universe.

“U-um, Yurio-,”

“Don’t call me that,” the boy muttered into Yuuri’s clavicle. “And you got this, okay? You can do this. You _are_ the notice-me-senpai success story. Well, actually, Viktor’s the one who’s been trying to get you to notice _him_ , so…”

“I got it,” Yuuri laughed, feeling some of the pressure abate.

“Good.”

Yurio pulled away.

“You ready to make history?”

Yuuri cast one last look at himself in the mirror, breathing out just like Viktor had told him so many times before he went on.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

The rink was dimly lit but even in the scant lighting, Yuuri could see the balloons. There were too many of them. It looked like a clown had randomly exploded beneath the ceiling of Hasetsu Ice Castle – no doubt the girls had been given free reign with the decorating.

He could sort of see the audience, everyone who had been invited to this, sitting across from the entrance, banners at the ready in their hands. One would think this was an actual competition.

He stepped out onto the ice, his knees shaking, and somehow managed to make it to the middle. The silence was making it even more difficult not to freak out.

Then the music started.

The music had been a unanimous decision on both their parts. It was the song that had started all of this, Viktor’s coming to Hasetsu, their tentative relationship which had never had a name until they’d given it one. All of it.

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu sei stato forse abbandonato_

Yuuri took a breath and delved right into it, skating his heart out to the silent awe of the people he loved, all gathered around to watch him. His mind was suddenly clear of anything but the feeling of the music, and he remembered how he, young and crestfallen, had watched Viktor skate to this for the first time. How he had looked up the lyrics and how his heart had torn just a little, solidifying his determination to start anew.

He entered his first jump, a quad Salchow, with ease, landing perfectly to _ooh’s_ from the audience. He went into an easy combination spin, enjoying the feeling of the cool air cocooning him.

This, he could do. Skating was what he did best, besides being completely and utterly in love with-

“Missed me?”

His spin ended in the arms of Viktor Nikiforov, in his pink and purple-clad glory. The Viktor Nikiforov who had given him hope even as he had destroyed his competition, Yuuri included.

They skated around in circles together, changing positions and tugging on each others hands to spin around. Viktor was under strict orders to _not jump under any circumstances, or else, Vitya,_ so Yuuri broke away from his hold a moment later, leaving Viktor to watch as he executed a quad flip.

 _The_ quad flip.

The landing wasn’t as clean as he had hoped, but hey, he didn’t put his hand down.

Instead, he found it enveloped in Viktor’s warm grasp.

And then, it was over.

Roaring applause filled the skating rink, and before he knew it, Yuuri was being showered in little kisses and pecks all over his face.

“Beautiful, that was beautiful,” Viktor said over and over, his eyes sparkling, his face…

Yuuri had put that smile on his face.

That was something he would never get over.

They were joined by Yurio, Phichit and Chris (in his _Intoxicated_ costume, god, Yuuri was going to conspire with Yurio one day and _burn_ that thing), and a very shaken, tearful Minako, who held a microphone in her hand.

“Uh, okay, settle down, the show’s not over,” she stammered out through tears, and the audience quieted a little. She stopped in front of Yuuri and Viktor with their best men behind them.

“Now, I’ve never done this before, or if I have, I was blissfully drunk, but I’m here to officiate the marriage of, uh, Viktor and Yuuri – say hello, boys – and uh, make their obvious love for each other more obvious,” Minako said, much to the amusement of, well, everyone who wasn’t Yuuri, as he was too busy blushing to the roots of his hair.

“We’re not going to do the boring part, since we all know that those two are perfect for each other and we’re all extra-hungry for Katsuki-san’s cooking after this, so, without further ado, we’re going straight for the vows. Viktor?”

The Russian man took the microphone from her, sending her one parting wink before he became a _completely_ committed man. Minako dabbed a handkerchief under her nose just in case.

“Yuuri.”

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to stop – or at least slow down just a little – so that the only thing Yuuri could focus on was Viktor.

“I have to say, I was… pretty enthralled with the beautiful young man who, uh, for the lack of better word, seduced me at the Grand Prix Final banquet last year.”

Yuuri was probably the color of a nice ripe tomato at this point.

“And even though we met in the most cliché manner, I… I don’t think there is a single moment spent with you that I regret. Because you were the one who not only gave me inspiration, but you also showed to me that there are things that are far more important than winning or awing the spectators. You showed me that… uh, whatever happens, there are people who stand by your side, like your family, and your friends, and you.”

Viktor cleared his throat, his eyes a little too shiny. He took Yuuri’s hand, their cold fingers twining.

“You showed me a love that I never felt. Not _Eros,_ but something, something that had no name. It can only be felt, and I can only feel it with you.”

“I love you, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor said, his voice shaking as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “And I will always stay close to you.”

Yuuri’s eyes were impossibly wide when Viktor gave him one of his half-smiles and passed the microphone to him.

“Uh… I never know what to say,” he stammered out sheepishly, earning himself a chuckle.

“I guess I never thought that I was really worth anything. I… I was always just good enough. And that was fine by me, for a while, but… but then I discovered that I can truly reach for the stars. The only thing I need is someone to reach for them with me.”

“I was a mess at first,” Yuuri said, looking up at Viktor with a small smile. “And so were you. We had no idea what we were doing together, as coach and student, as friends, as… as lovers. This was all new, and I have always, always stayed away from anything new because I was too afraid to come out of my comfort zone.”

“You showed me that new can be good. That new can be beautiful. That I can do new things and be new things. You showed me a future, Viktor. A future that I can call my own.”

“And I want to share that future with you,” Yuuri finished, his bottom lip trembling finely. Viktor was flat-out in tears, so Yuuri did the only logical thing and reached out, thumbing his cheek to wipe them away.

“I love you. And I will always be by your side.”

There was a moment of silence and then, in the most dramatic fashion possible, Yuuri was tackled to the ice together with the microphone which let out a deafening screech. He didn’t really notice, though, because he was too busy kissing his husband-to-be.

“You’re not supposed to kiss yet,” Yurio hissed at the two of them. “Rings!”

“Uh, right, rings,” Yuuri mumbled against Viktor’s lips, much to his fiancé’s amusement. Yurio rolled his eyes and thrust the golden band at him. Yuuri took it with shaking fingers and Viktor lifted one hand off the ice, offering it.

The ring slid on with ease, as did the one Chris practically threw at Viktor.

“Now can we kiss?” Viktor asked, glancing at Minako.

“Hell, you two do you,” she scoffed, and Viktor proceeded to devour Yuuri’s mouth until the younger man’s back went numb against the ice.

As the two of them stood, waving at their friends and family, Viktor turned his eyes to the exit just in time to see the retreating back of Viktor Nikiforov-senior.

He smiled to himself fondly and looked down at his new husband.

“Katsudon?” He asked over the cheers of the crowd. Yuuri’s eyes brightened.

“Katsudon.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop by on haganenoheichou.tumblr.com


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